


turn left and keep going

by pierrot



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 18:57:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9562262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pierrot/pseuds/pierrot
Summary: Finding themselves in new territory doesn't mean abandoning all of the old, unspoken rules.





	

“Does anyone have a pen?”  
  
Jun barely glances up from his phone and over at Sho before shaking his head. He’s too distracted by his messages— _so many messages, does he really have time for this?_ —to pay much attention to anything else. The others in the green room had been little more than white noise before Sho's interruption.  
  
“Ah, why can’t I find one, this is so annoying… I swear I had two in here yesterday…”  
  
“Ooh, I have a pen!” Aiba says from the other side of the room. “Here—”  
  
“Don’t throw it!”  
  
“Oops. Sorry, Sho-kun.”  
  
The apology is followed by the clatter of an object bouncing off tile floor and the grunt of couch cushions shifting before quiet finally descends over the room. Jun thinks he might be able to focus now the distraction has been dealt with, but then the noises of pen scratching against paper start. Each rough stroke pricks his concentration in an uncomfortably inconsistent rhythm. He can picture the shapes they form: a curved scribble, two sharp lines, a quick succession of characters drowned out by the rough slide of a hand racing across the page.  
  
“What are you writing, Sho-kun?” asks Ohno.  
  
“Lyrics.”  
  
Jun looks up. Sho stops writing for a second and lifts the hand holding the pen to scratch the side of his face. Blunt fingernails scrape skin as eyebrows creep together in harsh slants above a deep frown. Sho returns to writing, hesitates, and then taps the end of the pen against his notebook.  
  
“A new rap? For which song?”  
  
“Don’t know yet.”  
  
There’s a fresh inkstain on the edge of Sho’s index finger; a small, black smudge threatening to spread. When Jun glances at Sho’s face he sees another mark on his cheek, two centimetres past the corner of his mouth.  
  
Jun looks away. One of the stylists will catch the blemish before the cameras are turned on.  
  
  
—  
  
  
Poor sleep is nothing new for Sho, but he prefers there to be a good reason for why he’s not in bed at three in the morning. He needs to eat less salty foods in the evening. He should drink less and quit smoking for good.  
  
He’ll save those lofty goals for a week when everything feels a bit more steady.  
  
If he’s going to be awake, he could at least put the time to productive use. The pile of clean laundry in his room is dangerously close to toppling over, as though yearning to join the mess of discarded clothes on the floor. There’s a stack of old newspapers on his coffee table, more unwashed cups in the sink than he’d care to admit, and the glass bottles he’s left out for recycling are starting to gather dust.  
  
Instead of cleaning, he sits in front of his computer with his headphones on and waits for inspiration to hit. The half-formed rhymes and meaningful words that jolted him out of bed half an hour ago seem to be slipping helplessly out of his grasp. All he has left now is a headache.  
  
Sho glances at the clock. Time is moving but he’s getting nowhere.  
  
He needs to do something other than sit in the same spot growing agitated, but he knows he's too restless for sleep. Something relaxing, then. Something to settle his thoughts. He ponders the merits of a beer and decides the potential of a hangover isn't worth it.  
  
There’s only one person he knows who should still be awake at this hour. It’s the same person who really has no right to complain if Sho calls him so late.  
  
The song playing in his ears loops back to the start and the familiar first notes have become an unbearable cascade of noise, as though percussion synths and electric guitars are scratching the inside of his skull. Frustrated, he yanks his headphones off his head. He stares at the clock and thinks about his bed and eventually he gives up.  
  
Sho picks up his phone.  
  
  
—  
  
  
“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” Sho asks when he climbs into the passenger seat. “It’s late.”  
  
“I’m fine.” Jun adjusts the air conditioning, lowering the temperature by half a degree, and checks his rearview mirror. “I haven’t been drinking.”  
  
He thinks Sho will appreciate the detail. Caution is the watchword when it comes to anything they choose to do. At such an unusual hour, it’s safest for them to spend their time together here, shielded by the protection of tinted glass. Jun knows the paparazzi probably learned the exact model and registration of his new car the moment he bought it, but he doesn’t think anyone’s been following him.  
  
“Are we going somewhere?”  
  
Jun shrugs. “Just driving, unless you had other ideas? You’re the one who called me out.”  
  
“I called you because I knew you’d be awake. I didn’t really think you’d come over.”  
  
He sounds tired. Jun glances across at Sho when they stop at an intersection and the lights from outside are bright enough to show every crease and shadow on his face in unforgiving detail.  
  
They’re too old for this.  
  
It makes him wonder why Sho agreed to his suggestion to go out. Jun’s aware of his own motivations. After a certain hour, the unchanging white walls of his apartment start making him feel stir-crazy, and the chance for a change of scenery is one he welcomes. Especially if it means getting to talk to a real person, flesh and blood and husky voiced responses, instead of his furniture.  
  
Maybe Sho is the same as him.  
  
“How?” Jun says.  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“How did you know I’d be awake?”  
  
“Oh.” Sho snorts. “Because I know you. This close to a concert, there’s no way you’re not staying up every night worrying about the details. In a few nights you’d probably be calling me yourself.”  
  
Jun bites back the denial on his tongue. He can’t say Sho’s not correct, though he finds it discomfiting to hear his habits spoken of so plainly.  
  
It’s another mark on Sho’s tally for this game they seem to play; the one where it feels as if they compete to see who can drop the most reminders that they do, in fact, know each other better than their supposedly awkward relationship suggests. Jun isn’t sure when exactly it started, or whether Sho’s even aware that he’s playing, but he can’t help but keep a vague record of every acknowledgement anyway.  
  
Sho is at least one up on him now, and Jun has always been competitive.  
  
“You have a location shoot tomorrow, right? Are you even going to get any sleep beforehand?”  
  
“Ah… it’s probably getting close to sunrise, isn’t it?”  
  
Jun hums a response.  
  
“Kinda makes me think of those all-night trips we used to have to take. Wandering around in the dark with no money, waiting for the sun to come up.”  
  
“We had bicycles then. And a camera.”  
  
“Yeah. I guess it’s not really the same.” Sho shifts in his seat and Jun can sense the way the way his head rolls across the headrest, gaze landing on Jun. “Should we drive out some place where we can watch the sunrise?”  
  
There’s no hint of dawn yet that Jun can see, but the buildings and streetlights obscuring the sky make it hard to tell. He eases his foot off the accelerator and onto the brake, checking to make sure the road is clear, and sneaks another glance at Sho. His hair is mussed, sticking out in odd bumps behind his ears. There are definite bags under his eyes, puffy and grey, and his gaze is unfocused, not actually fixed on Jun as he assumed, but somewhere just past him.  
  
Jun looks back at the road and flicks his indicator on. “I don't think that's a good idea.”  
  
  
—  
  
  
Sho’s street is quiet when they arrive back at his apartment. In a way, the eerie silence makes Sho feel as though he’s an intruder to his own home, or a criminal returning to his hideout after making an escape. In a different sense, the absence of any obvious change since he left almost has him wondering if the forty minutes spent aimlessly driving with Jun never happened. Only the faintest brush of dawn light gives any indication of time having passed.  
  
He supposes he’ll be able to see the sunrise from the comfort of his apartment.  
  
That is, if he doesn’t just collapse into bed the first second he can. Exhaustion finally caught up to him fully, and he’s slow to move as he unbuckles his seatbelt.  
  
“Do you feel better now?” asks Jun. “About whatever it was that had you calling me so late. I'd like to hope this wasn't all for nothing.”  
  
It’s just like Jun to throw the slightest hint of bite behind his concern. Sho supposes he deserves it.  
  
“Thank you,” Sho says. “Sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”  
  
Jun’s silence is enough motivation for him to finally reach for the door handle.  
  
“Sho-kun,” Jun says before Sho can step out of the car. “Next time, call me earlier. There’s a good bar near my apartment.”  
  
Sho pauses and looks over at Jun. In the dark, it’s difficult to make out much, but he can see the way Jun’s chin tilts slightly in his direction, as if Jun is caught between the desire to look Sho's way and the need to keep his eyes averted. He waits for a few seconds to see if Jun will make up his mind, but Jun doesn't move.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
  
—  
  
  
The bar is about what Sho expects. Dark walls and dim lighting creating an amber glow, chairs encased in fine leather and soft jazz filtering through the speakers. Jun makes a show of perusing the lengthy wine list with a critical eye, lips stretching awkwardly over the foreign words— _Rioja, Sangiovese, Bordeaux_ —as he asks Sho his preferences.  
  
Sho’s not fussy. He’s more of a beer person.  
  
Waiting for the glasses to be set and the wine to be poured creates an awkward pause in their conversation. A private room seemed preferable when they first arrived, but the empty space and near-quiet adds pressure; Sho feels as though anything he chooses to say will be amplified tenfold.  
  
Jun doesn’t appear as bothered. He talks about work and the upcoming tour and his latest hobbies, and it’s so painfully ordinary that Sho feels the tension in his shoulders drip away, becoming loose with every sip of his wine.  
  
“Is it okay for you to be here now?” Jun asks when there’s only about a glass left in the bottle of Malbec they’ve been sharing. “I mean, aren’t you seeing someone lately?”  
  
Sho blinks. He reaches for his glass and drains the remainder before setting it back down. Jun picks up the bottle of wine and splits the last of it between them.  
  
“I’m not seeing anyone.”  
  
“I thought there was someone?”  
  
There was someone, months ago. A nice woman he met through mutual friends; one of those well-intentioned attempts to help him find a chance to finally settle down like he’s always wanted. They shared a few pleasant evenings together before the connection stuttered and fizzled out, with no attempts from either side to progress.  
  
It’s a familiar pattern.  
  
“I went on a couple of dates,” he says, glancing at Jun for just a second. “Nothing really worth mentioning. I would tell you guys if there was anything serious.”  
  
It occurs to him then that he has no idea whether Jun is dating anyone. There used to be a string of whirlwind romances and secretive relationships that always ended in heartbreak and Jun’s sour mood before he moved on, but Sho can’t remember hearing about any new girlfriends in some time. He’s always assumed Jun would inform the group if anything even approaches serious, knowing how important it is for them to maintain control over their image, but maybe that’s why Jun doesn’t need to tell them. He’s better than anyone at keeping his affairs private, so there’s no cause for concern.  
  
Sho swallows another mouthful of wine, and with it, some courage.  
  
“How about you? Is there anyone?”  
  
Only a moment of fortune with the timing of his glances at Jun allows him to catch the hint of a bitter smile before it slips away. Sho wants to hit rewind so he can see it again in slow motion. It’s not possible. He has to be satisfied with his own imperfect impression of the look in Jun’s eyes.  
  
“No,” says Jun, and Sho is breaking his rules on staring now, but he doesn’t care. “It got… tiring. You know how it is. There’s always work and secrecy and complications and—” He pauses and shrugs. “I think I’m better off not worrying about all of that right now.”  
  
Sho’s mouth feels dry. He looks down at the table and a soft laugh escapes his lips.  
  
“This is kind of sad, isn’t it? I always thought that being famous would make dating so much easier.”  
  
“Yeah,” Jun says, and offers no more.  
  
The next time Sho sneaks a glance over the rim of his glass, he catches Jun staring right back.  
  
  
—  
  
  
Jun and Sho don’t frequent the same places. They don’t share the same friends outside of work; even their mutual friends are separated by enough degrees for whispered rumours to get lost. They’ve never once run into each other in a compromising situation.  
  
Even so, Jun’s always _known_.  
  
  
—  
  
  
 _I remembered the name of the restaurant I mentioned last night. Sending you a link._  
  
Jun stares at the chat window on his phone and tries to fool himself into thinking he’s not waiting for the empty blue space to change with a sign that his message has been read. He ends up scrolling through past messages absent-mindedly as he does; it gives him some reason to still be holding onto his phone instead of moving on.  
  
There’s not much to see. Private conversations are rarely needed between them. Jun didn’t need to start one now, but he was curious to know how Sho would respond.  
  
He’ll never admit to anyone how long it took him to decide what to write. In the end, he went for simplicity. The safe option. It puts the burden on Sho to take the small leap Jun’s wary of, but it’s better than losing face.  
  
Sho's response, when it does come, is even simpler.  
  
 _Thanks._  
  
Jun sighs. His thumbs hover over the screen for a few seconds before he sets his phone aside.  
  
It’s only hours later that he notices another message, sent two minutes after the first.  
  
 _I think I’d enjoy myself more if I went with someone familiar with the place. Do you have any free time next week?_  
  
It’s difficult to suppress the pleased smile that comes as soon as he reads the words. Jun immediately closes the chat window and locks his phone, shoving it in his pocket away from temptation.  
  
As soon as he realises what he’s doing, he has to laugh at himself. He’s being ridiculous. Why does he feel the need to try so hard to hide his true intentions when Sho rarely does?  
  
He’s sure Sho can see right through him anyway.  
  
  
—  
  
  
“Yo, Aiba-kun, did you take my—oh. It’s you.”  
  
Jun raises his eyebrows at Sho and closes the door behind him. “Don’t sound too disappointed.”  
  
“Ah, no—sorry. I thought you were Aiba-kun.”  
  
“I think he’s in the bathroom.”  
  
“Really?” Sho sniffs. “He’s always in the bathroom.”  
  
Jun shrugs and crosses the room to slump onto the couch across from Sho. His head falls back as he shifts his body down in his seat, restless movements reflecting his struggle to find a comfortable position. Sho notices the way his eyes drift slowly shut in time with his breathing, holding closed for a few seconds before cracking back open.  
  
“Didn’t have time for lunch?” Jun asks with a lazy nod at Sho’s half-eaten bento on the table.  
  
“Something like that.”  
  
There’s probably not much time left for Sho to finish eating. He returns to shovelling food into his mouth, rushing a bit more than is ideal, until he’s satisfied. A few morsels go astray in his haste, but Jun doesn’t pass any comment.  
  
Sho glances up and Jun’s eyes are open a little wider, gaze more focused than it was before.  
  
He’s staring.  
  
“What?” Sho says.  
  
Jun waves a hand in front of his face. “You’ve got a little…”  
  
“Oh.” Sho grabs a paper napkin and rubs over his mouth.  
  
“No,” says Jun, leaning forward suddenly, and were their chairs always close enough for it to be so easy for Jun to reach over and touch Sho?  
  
 _Touch_. Jun is touching Sho’s face, fingers gripping his chin and thumb pressing firm with a rough stroke down past the edge of his mouth. Sho stops breathing. He’s too stunned to pull back, every muscle locked in place as Jun rubs a brand into his skin.  
  
He still doesn’t move when the pressure on his chin disappears, trying to understand why the thumb that was touching his face is now touching Jun’s _tongue_ , and Jun’s hand returns before Sho can even blink.  
  
A sinking sort of horror drags through his throat when he feels Jun’s thumb descend to once again land on his cheek. Damp slides across his skin, sticky and strange, and it’s completely bewildering, but something warm flares under Sho’s fingertips at the way Jun’s fingers curl around his jaw.  
  
It’s over in an instant. Jun grabs a napkin off the table and drops it onto Sho’s limp hands before returning to his previous position on his chair, settling back as if he didn’t just do something abnormal. As if nothing even happened at all, except Sho can still feel a sliver of wetness yet to dry prickling his chin.  
  
He clenches the napkin in his hand but he doesn’t move to wipe his face.  
  
  
—  
  
  
Sex with Jun isn’t what Sho expects. Too many years of running jokes and variety personas turned up to eleven have left a caricature of aggressive dominance imprinted in his mind over the image he has of Jun and sometimes it’s hard to separate fact from fiction.  
  
Jun’s grip is on the edge of painful when he settles them into position, thumb harsh against Sho’s collarbone, but he’s careful. Too careful, really. He’s slow to prepare Sho, pausing far too often to readjust, to add more lube, to make certain everything is right, and the effort of it all leaves Sho feeling an uncomfortable lump of _mistake_ creeping up his throat.  
  
But then, also, a wash of fondness in his chest when he sees how hard Jun is trying for him. How his shoulders tremble and his face becomes so serious, biting his lip to hold back his heavy pants.  
  
Sho reaches up brush away some of the hair falling over Jun’s forehead. His fingers slide against scalp, feeling the slight damp of sweat on his skin, and he tugs.  
  
“Hey,” he says. “Kiss me.”  
  
A tiny scowl appears on Jun’s face and he bats Sho’s hand away. He returns to what he was doing, pushing a third finger all the way inside Sho— _there, that’s better, that’s almost_ —but then he does drop down to let Sho meet him halfway in a kiss, and it’s a marked improvement. Sho can distract Jun this way. He can coax some of the pressure from Jun’s body through his lips, urging him to relax, loosen up, let instinct and feeling take control.  
  
It’s not perfect. They never quite reach any dizzying heights together, but Sho’s not there to grade Jun’s performance. He just wants to feel Jun, as he is, in the moment there with him.  
  
When Jun comes with a shaky cry, his head drops close enough for Sho to feel hair brush his cheek and to smell the dull, lingering fragrance of cologne on Jun’s neck. Sho’s already completely spent, so he’s only dimly aware of Jun moving off him. Heat shifts in the newly vacated space between their bodies and Sho's muscles twitch involuntarily at the loss of Jun’s presence.  
  
There’s silence for a moment, until it’s broken by the strange sound of choked laughter.  
  
Jun’s laughter.  
  
“This was so stupid.”  
  
Sho turns his head. Jun is flat on his back next to him, face turned toward the ceiling, and his eyes are closed. One of Jun’s hands moves to rub his face, palm pressing against top of his cheek. Shielding his expression from view.  
  
Sho doesn’t know what to say. He still doesn’t when Jun shifts to sit on the edge of the bed, facing away from Sho.  
  
There’s enough light in the room for Sho to see every detail of Jun’s back presented before him. He wonders what it would look like if he were to sit beside Jun. How their shapes would contrast, different lines and curves creating two distinct entities. Would the image seem right?  
  
Jun shifts, and Sho expects him to leave. He’s surprised, then, when Jun rolls over to hover above him once more, arms resting on either side of his head.  
  
They stare at each other without speaking. Sho can feel come caking unpleasantly on his stomach and Jun’s cock, soft and heavy, brushing against his thigh. He doesn’t move.  
  
Jun leans down slowly to press his lips to Sho’s and Sho welcomes him.  
  
They don’t stop kissing for a long time.  
  
  
—  
  
  
“Hey,” Sho says. “Did you and Aiba-kun ever…”  
  
“Ever? Oh. No—what? No way.”  
  
“Well, you did kiss before. Masaki enjoyed mentioning it enough.”  
  
“Never more than that. Why, did you?”  
  
“No, I think he’s pretty exclusively into women. Just wondered if you were a lucky exception.” There’s a pause marked by the sound of sheets being tugged into place before Sho adds, “Nino offered once.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Sho laughs. “I don’t think he was actually interested. I think he just felt sorry for me. Or maybe he wanted to see how I’d react. I don’t know, I never asked him.”  
  
“So…”  
  
“Nothing happened. I freaked out on him and he never mentioned it again. Like it never happened.”  
  
“Are you sure it did?”  
  
There’s no immediate response. Sho bends down to tuck the edges of the top sheet under the mattress, movements a little slower than they need to be.  
  
“Did you—”  
  
“Sho-san, why are you bringing all of this up now?”  
  
“You’re not curious?”  
  
“No. Not really.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Sho straightens and grabs one of the pillows off the bed. He plumps it up a few times, hands squashing it back into shape, before placing it down. “I thought it might be good to know. And, uh, I guess I was wondering…”  
  
“You want to know if we should tell the others about this.”  
  
“Should we?”  
  
Jun sighs and steps back from the bed. His hands come to rest on his hips and his eyes stare down at the freshly made sheets, lips pursing and brow furrowing as he thinks.  
  
“No,” he says. “I don’t think… they’ll be too annoying. It’s not worth it.”  
  
 _Not worth it when what happened won’t happen again_ , is the unspoken end of that sentence. They’re both aware of what he really meant.  
  
“Yeah,” says Sho. “You’re probably right.”  
  
Jun lifts his head but his eyes don’t meet Sho’s across the room. “It’s not like I want to lie or anything, it’s just…”  
  
“Not yet,” Sho finishes. “Maybe one day.”  
  
 _One day after enough time has passed for it not to matter._  
  
  
—  
  
  
“Stay up late again last night?” Aiba says all of two seconds after greeting Jun. “You look exhausted.”  
  
Jun raises his eyebrows over his cup of coffee. “Thanks.”  
  
Aiba laughs. “You know I didn’t mean anything by it. You look fine! Just… a little puffier than usual around the eyes maybe, but it’s cute!”  
  
He ignores the scowl Jun sends his way, or possibly doesn’t notice it at all, and picks up one of the sweet buns a staff member left out on a table.  
  
“I hope you’re not working yourself too hard, Matsujun.”  
  
“I could say the same to you.”  
  
“It’s been a busy year, hasn’t it?” Aiba smiles. “But it’s good. I’m glad we still get to do so many interesting things, you know?”  
  
Jun understands him well. Their schedules are often taxing, but they’re a gift to treasure all the same. The five of them are too aware of how different things could be; how one day they’ll change again. There’s not really any fear at thought, just a desire to keep moving to see how far they can go.  
  
A pang of guilt twinges through Jun’s chest as he looks at Aiba smiling in front of him. Risky impulses can be acted upon and secrets can be kept hidden, but the reality of knowingly jeopardising the group bonds that hold them afloat is a lot to bear. He was stupid to think otherwise.  
  
“Aiba—”  
  
The door clicks open and Jun clamps his mouth shut. He glances over at the intruder, hoping his face isn’t showing anything too incriminating, and he should be relieved to see it’s only Sho, but he finds the weird surge of feelings that pass through him aren’t so straightforward.  
  
Sho sure can have impeccable fucking timing sometimes.  
  
“Yo, my homies,” Sho says with a nod, and Jun wonders if he’ll ever completely grow out of greeting them that way. Maybe he’ll be in his fifties and still clinging to stupid things to make himself seem as cool as Jun once thought he was.  
  
He’s being unfairly harsh. The stress is getting to him.  
  
“There's food?” Sho asks.  
  
“On the table,” Aiba says—mumbles, really—around an overstuffed mouthful. Jun is treated to a wonderful display of soggy, half-eaten bread he fears will spill out at any moment.  
  
“Don’t be gross,” Jun says, fishing out a packet of tissues from his pocket. “Here.”  
  
The packet hits Aiba directly on his nose.  
  
Aiba complains and Sho laughs and they both start cracking jokes, but Jun isn’t paying much attention. He lies back on the couch and close his eyes, hoping that even if he can’t actually fall asleep, he can at least do a convincing job of pretending.  
  
  
—  
  
  
Later, when all five of them are together in the green room waiting for filming to start, Jun checks his phone and notices a new notification on his LINE app. He doesn’t think much of it until he notices the unread message is from Sho.  
  
It’s definitely strange to see when Sho is only a few metres away from him, and Jun knows the message wasn’t sent before Sho arrived. He’s almost reluctant to read it.  
  
 _Are you doing anything after filming?_  
  
Jun can read that much without opening the chat window. If he closes the app now, he can escape needing to respond until it’s too late to matter.  
  
Hesitating, his eyes drift across the room to where he knows Sho is. He’s sitting forward on his chair, teeth flashing an amused smile as he watches Aiba and Nino messing around on the couch. Nino throws himself away from Aiba to land on an unsuspecting Ohno, and Sho laughs, loud and vibrant.  
  
He’s got a perfect face for laughter. It’s kind of annoying sometimes. Light reflects off his rounded cheeks in a way that makes him appear as if he’s shining with the force of it; as if he’s a beacon of infectious happiness. His eyes almost disappear completely and there are deep creases at the corners, showing a life lived in good humour.  
  
Jun doesn’t want to witness any of it. He looks back at his phone and opens the unread message. There’s nothing more to see than what he was already able to read.  
  
 _I’m busy._  
  
He hits send before he can change his mind.  
  
  
—  
  
  
“You’re acting weird lately,” Nino tells him when they stop to take a break during rehearsals.  
  
“Am I?” Sho says. He aims for mildly surprised and generally unaffected, but his voice pitches a little too high on the last syllable. It’s not exactly fair of Nino to lobby an accusation at him when he’s too worn out to mount a proper defence.  
  
Nino eyes him speculatively as he wipes some of the sweat off his face. “And you’re a terrible liar.” He presses his sweaty palm to the top of Sho’s shoulder. Sho would protest, but his t-shirt is damp enough at this stage for a little extra moisture not to matter.  
  
“Want to talk about it?”  
  
Sho does. Sort of. He wants to go out for a beer and complain about mixed signals and confusing histories and everything about Jun that drives him crazy. He wants Nino’s insight; blunt and honest, but still gentle the way he knows Nino tends to ultimately be.  
  
He can’t.  
  
“There’s nothing to talk about,” he says with a shrug.  
  
Nino nods, hand slipping down Sho’s chest. “Okay.”  
  
That’s something Sho always likes about Nino. He’s sharp, and he can bite, but he doesn’t push.  
  
“Let me give you some advice anyway, Sho-chan,” Nino says. “Always remember that if you keep looking too much, eventually people are going to notice.”  
  
Sho stills, instinctively clenching the muscles in his neck so his head doesn’t turn without thinking. So he doesn’t end up looking over to the other side of the room, where he knows Aiba and Jun are still working through some of the choreography.  
  
He stays that way, even when Nino pats his arm and moves away. Still trying not to look, even when a new figure approaches him.  
  
“Think you’re going to be okay for the real thing?” Jun says.  
  
Sho nods, eyes averted. This close, he can feel the heat radiating off Jun’s body, smell the waft of sweat touching his nostrils. Hear the sounds of laboured breathing that reminds him too much of something else.  
  
He can’t help himself from chancing a glimpse.  
  
He thinks Jun should be the one receiving warnings about the way he looks at people.  
  
  
—  
  
  
After a concert finishes, Jun can be a little hard to deal with. Adrenaline is necessary to make it through the demands of a concert, but with Jun, it lingers too long, goes too far. Even exhausted, the force of his energy can be overwhelming.  
  
Sho’s never appreciated the positive aspects of this side of Jun properly before. Like how he doesn’t stop himself before he touches, hand sliding past Sho’s hip, an arm thrown around his shoulders, fingers pressing into the soft flesh above his wrist. Or how the excitement lights his face up in a near-constant smile, even when he’s too weary to keep it showing on his lips. There’s still a spark in his eyes and a flush on his cheeks; the satisfaction of a job well done.  
  
Most importantly, he’s more agreeable. Nothing stops him from staring back when Sho shoots him a meaningful look and Sho’s not really surprised when Jun stops in front of his hotel room instead of saying goodnight, waiting for Sho to join him.  
  
Sho counts down the seconds after Jun closes the door. _3, 2—_  
  
A hand on his wrist and another on his chin stops him from reaching '0'.  
  
Jun makes it easy to want to touch him. Freshly showered, there’s no trace of the sweat Sho felt when he let himself be tugged into Jun’s embrace for a brief moment backstage. He can smell Jun’s fruity shampoo and faint traces of moisturiser. He can feel skin that’s soft to touch and hair that’s still wet.  
  
He thinks he can maybe taste the tiniest remaining hints of salt on Jun’s neck. If he presses his tongue firm enough; if he searches long enough.  
  
“Don’t be too loud,” Sho mumbles as Jun tugs at his clothes. “People might hear.”  
  
Jun responds by pushing him flat against the bed.  
  
It’s the third time they’ve done this, and three makes a pattern. The second time was more of a surprise than the first; Jun turned down his casual invitations for a month, and Sho considered it a return to status quo. He only called Jun the last time because he really did want to discuss concert matters.  
  
There wasn’t much discussion that night. Not with their words, anyway.  
  
Feeling Jun pressing eagerly against him, rough and unsteady, Sho doesn’t think they’ll be doing any talking tonight either.  
  
He doesn’t mind. This way is easier.  
  
  
—  
  
  
If anyone were to ask, Jun would say he likes Ohno the best. He especially likes Ohno right now, when Jun is tired enough to want to lean into the warmth of a familiar body and Ohno’s always been the most comfortable.  
  
Jun toys with a loose thread on the bottom of Ohno’s shirt and feels his head move in time with steady breaths. Up, down, faint heartbeats sounding in his ears.  
  
A soothing backdrop to help his mind find clarity.  
  
“Hey, Leader?” he says, sitting up suddenly. “What do you think you would do if we weren’t doing this? If we stopped being Arashi tomorrow?”  
  
It takes Ohno some time to respond. Jun looks up at his face, but Ohno isn’t asleep; just thinking.  
  
“Hmm…” Ohno says, blinking slowly. “Take a holiday? Go fishing, I guess.”  
  
“And then?”  
  
“And then? I’d come back here and keep doing the same thing with all of you.”  
  
Something heavy lands on Jun’s other side and he feels himself being crushed by the weight of an arm being thrown around his shoulders before he has a chance to consider Ohno's response.  
  
“What are you guys talking about?”  
  
Jun shrugs his shoulders in an attempt to dislodge Aiba’s presence. “You’re too close.”  
  
“No fair! You cuddled up to Oh-chan.”  
  
“Yeah, but I can’t smell _his_ breakfast.”  
  
Aiba lifts a hand in front of his mouth and exhales noisily, face scrunching as he checks the results. Seemingly satisfied that Jun was lying, he returns to worming his way into Jun’s space, arms sliding around his waist and torso trapping his arm.  
  
No matter how much time Jun spends at the gym, he’ll never quite be able to match up to the strength of Aiba’s determination. He finds himself collapsing unceremoniously into Ohno’s lap as sixty kilos of lean muscle press on top of him.  
  
“What is this? Tormenting Jun-kun time?”  
  
Jun looks up to see Nino’s face hovering above him. He’s leaning over the back of the couch, tipping perilously closer, and—  
  
“Nino, don’t you dare—”  
  
He’s too late. Nino clambers over the couch and flops onto the messy pile, somehow managing to avoid being toppled to the floor. He wriggles around to position his body away from danger and Jun finds himself increasingly smothered. He’s unable to escape Aiba’s breathy giggles against his neck or Nino’s fingers digging into his arm.  
  
Never one to be left out, Sho moves to join them from the other side of the room. Jun is able to catch a glimpse of him approaching before his face ends up buried somewhere in Ohno’s lap.  
  
Jun can’t see Sho as he adds his weight to the pile, but he can certainly feel him.  
  
“Sho-chan, you’re too heavy!”  
  
“You’re all too heavy, get off!”  
  
Ohno just laughs and laughs, and Jun can feel the vibrations bubble all the way through to his chest.  
  
  
—  
  
  
“Fuck. Ah, _fuck_ , Matsujun, I need to be able to walk tomorrow.”  
  
Jun retaliates by pushing Sho even harder against the wall. “You’re fine.”  
  
Sho is gasping more than he’s breathing, stifling small grunts and other embarrassing noises he’d prefer to keep inaudible, but he still finds space to form words. “If you keep this up I swear I’m gonna pull something—”  
  
“Shut up,” Jun says, harsh against Sho’s neck. He surges forward to bite Sho’s ear, teeth tugging the lobe to leave a pinprick of pain barely soothed by the quick swipe of his lips. “You always talk too much in bed.”  
  
“In case you didn’t notice, we’re not in bed.”  
  
Jun growls and spins them off the wall, fingers digging into Sho’s hips as he moves them to the bed. There’s a brief moment of respite as Sho’s back thumps off the mattress and he writhes into a semi-comfortable position, and then he surges up to meet Jun halfway, to tug him all the way down to join Sho on the bed.  
  
Jun maintains the fast pace. He ravages Sho’s mouth, his neck, his chest, sucking and biting with no obvious rhythm, almost leaving marks but not quite. His hands roam down the length of Sho’s torso, searching for the most sensitive spots he’s already learned, prodding with firm touches until Sho is where he wants. Sho lets his legs fall open and Jun hooks an arm beneath one knee, lifting it up, stretching Sho’s body, and—  
  
“Ah… ah, ah, _ah_ , shit, stop. _Ow_.”  
  
Jun stills and pulls back. Sho winces, face twisting into an unattractive grimace as he reaches to clutch his thigh.  
  
“What’s wrong?”  
  
The breath Sho was holding gets released in a short, heavy puff. “ _Cramp_.”  
  
Jun shifts back onto his haunches and slowly lowers Sho’s leg. For a few seconds, he waits as Sho continues panting through the pain, and then slides both hands down Sho’s calf. Soothing strokes turn into a light massage, easing away Sho’s tension with gentle touches.  
  
“You’re getting too old,” Jun remarks.  
  
Sho squints at him through eyes still mostly closed. “You’re just too damn energetic for your age.”  
  
Jun laughs. One of his hands slips over to touch the side of Sho’s hip, drifting across taut skin before reaching for his cock. It’s soft, but Jun keeps his grip light. No pressure to push for anything too much, only helping to return some of the fire to Sho’s belly.  
  
“We’ll go slower,” Jun promises.  
  
  
—  
  
  
“Why are we doing this again?”  
  
Jun nods his head at Sho to indicate he should lift the string of lights he’s holding a little higher. He steps back, assessing their placement on the giant Christmas tree, and another nod lets Sho know he’s satisfied.  
  
Sho carefully drapes the lights over the artificial branches and disappears around the other side of the tree.  
  
“Because you were free. And I promised you lunch. And you like this kind of tedious crap, don’t lie.”  
  
“No,” says Sho, voice slightly muffled. “Why are we doing this now? Christmas is still weeks away, and I know you like to be prepared, but decorating for your party this far in advance is overkill.”  
  
“My party is tomorrow night.”  
  
“What?”  
  
The tree rustles with sudden movement and only Jun’s quick reflexes prevent any glass baubles from falling to the floor. Jun can see Sho reappearing in his periphery, but he doesn’t spare him a proper glance. He knows Sho moved just so Jun could witness the full impact of his pout. It’s more fun to deny him the satisfaction.  
  
“Where was my invite?” Sho says.  
  
“The party is for friends.”  
  
“Oh.” A beat. “ _Oh_.”  
  
There’s the soft thud of something hitting the carpet—the remaining Christmas lights, Jun assumes—and he does look over at Sho now to confirm that he’s not actually upset.  
  
Sho has a hand in his pocket, fishing out his phone.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
“Calling Leader. I have to let him know our sweet, adorable Macchan grew up so cold and heartless. Where did we go so wrong raising you?”  
  
If baubles weren’t made of glass and too expensive to waste, Jun would definitely throw one at Sho’s head.  
  
“Since when were the two of you my parents, you ass?”  
  
“That would be kind of weird, wouldn’t it.” Sho pauses for a moment before raising his eyebrows at Jun. “Unless you want to—”  
  
“No,” interrupts Jun, nose scrunching. “Whatever you were going to say, just… stop before you make me never want to touch you again.”  
  
Sho laughs.  
  
He bends down to retrieve the lights from the floor, turning around just enough as he does to give Jun a nice view of thin cotton stretched tight. Jun appreciates how obliging Sho always is to show off what he knows Jun likes to see. He’s less appreciative of the hint of an obnoxious smirk that appears on Sho’s face when he stands back up, but that has its own charm too.  
  
“You are invited,” Jun says after a minute spent quietly working. “If you wanted to come, you could.”  
  
“I couldn’t, really. I have plans.”  
  
Jun nods. “I know,” he says quietly, fingers closing over the bauble he just attached to the tree. He sighs. “Sorry, I didn’t actually—”  
  
“Relax.” Sho sidles up right beside him, a hand coming to rest on Jun’s elbow. He smiles when Jun looks at him and nudges him out of the way so he can shuffle past, draping more lights around the tree. “It’s fine. I wouldn’t want to make things awkward, anyway.”  
  
Jun watches him for a moment, noting the complete absence of any concern on Sho’s face. He turns back to the tree. There’s a lot left to decorate, too many branches still bare, but his movements become slow. Each bauble that won’t hang perfectly straight over the uncooperative plastic bristles is a personal affront; Jun focuses his attention on neatening their appearance, trying to force some kind of ordered pattern without causing any to break.  
  
“Hey. Matsujun.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You’ve got a really serious look on your face. It’s kind of scary.”  
  
Jun tears his gaze away from the tree. Sho’s smiling at him, almost teasing, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes and Jun feels as though he’s been caught.  
  
“You’re overthinking things, aren’t you?” Sho says. “You shouldn’t do that. Can’t we just enjoy the moment for once?”  
  
Jun blinks and looks down at the bauble in his hand. It’s red. He could almost laugh, but the absurdity of the entire situation is suddenly pressing down on his shoulders and he’s too tired to feel the humour in it.  
  
“You know we can’t,” he says. “ _You_ can’t. That’s not how things work.”  
  
Sho’s still staring at him when Jun turns his head.  
  
“Yeah. Okay. We should talk.” Sho reaches across for the box Jun left on a nearby chair and he picks it up. “After we finish though, alright? We’re close now. I want to see this tree all lit up.”  
  
  
—  
  
  
Cooking is an activity Jun prefers to conduct solo. He doesn’t mind a friendly presence talking to him through the monotony of preparing ingredients, but he feels more at ease when he can take control of every task.  
  
Today, however, he accepts Sho’s offer of assistance. He places the salad ingredients with a knife and chopping board on the counter and leaves Sho with clipped instructions before busying himself with the seafood, thinking it better for them to both remain distracted. Sho’s cuts are sloppy, creating pieces a bit too large, but Jun tries not to hover.  
  
Sounds of knives thwacking against wood and burners flickering to life fill the space where conversation should be. Sho disrupts the quiet at odd moments with attempts to slip into their usual banter but Jun’s heart isn’t in it. He’s not as good as Sho at shifting moods.  
  
“Are you not going to say anything?” Sho says when they’re sitting across from each other at Jun’s dining table, plates laid out in front of them. “I thought you wanted to talk.”  
  
Jun bristles at the tone in his voice. “I don’t know.”  
  
He looks up without meaning to and feels caught when he sees Sho staring at him with an unnerving sort of patience in his eyes. As if he’s expecting something from Jun.  
  
Sho tilts his head. “Why?” he says. “You know what you want to say, right? You’re going to tell me all of the reasons why we can’t be doing this… whatever it is we’re doing. How we should cut it off now before it becomes a mess. And I’m going to agree with you because you’re right, and then we’ll finish eating and I’ll go home and... that will be that.”  
  
The sudden speech throws Jun. Not so much because of its contents, but because of the matter-of-fact way Sho delivered it.  
  
Denial comes instinctively, rash and unconvincing.  
  
“No.”  
  
“No?” Sho raises his eyebrows. “Then what?”  
  
Jun swallows and drops his head. He runs his hand through his hair, tugging at the locks as if he might be able to pull forth the thoughts that don’t want to come out.  
  
“What, Jun? If you want to have a conversation, you have to talk. I’m not a mind reader.”  
  
“I’m trying, okay, just… shut up and let me think for a second.”  
  
He’s not looking at Sho, so he misses seeing the way his expression shifts.  
  
“You’re being ridiculous.”  
  
“And you’re an asshole,” Jun snaps.  
  
He doesn’t mean it. It doesn’t even make sense for him to say, when he knows Sho hasn’t done anything to deserve his ire.  
  
It’s too late for him to take back the insult. Sho’s face is already hardening, brows knitting together over eyes that have turned cold.  
  
Jun hasn’t seen that expression turned his way in a long time.  
  
“Fine,” Sho says. “I can be the asshole if that’s what makes you feel better. I always was, wasn’t I? That’s why you—” He stops and sighs. “Never mind.”  
  
Jun doesn’t know what to say. He sits in guilty silence as Sho gets up and gathers his things, feeling choked by his weakness.  
  
Sho pauses after he puts on his coat, turning back to face Jun. “I don’t know what it is you want, Jun. I know we were never..." He stops, licking his lips. "I didn't regret it. Any of it."  
  
With that, he looks away and heads for the door. Jun’s left watching the frame of Sho’s back, the angled slope of his shoulders, disappearing further out of his touch. The distance between them seems too far for Jun to cross in time, even if he thought he could make his body cooperate. He feels paralysed. By stubbornness or helplessness? Or maybe just resignation.  
  
He doesn’t know.  
  
“Sho...”  
  
Sho stops.  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
Sho looks over his shoulder and there’s a small smile on his face. Soft and full of pity.  
  
“Yeah. Me too.”  
  
  
—  
  
  
It’s funny to Sho how Tokyo can seem so bright and festive on Christmas Eve, illuminated by sparkling lights and filled with couples sharing romantic dates, but during the early hours of morning, everything still feels much the same as always. When he turns into Jun’s street, it’s as if there’s nothing at all special about that night.  
  
It is special, though, to Sho. He doesn’t think Jun would have accepted his request on an ordinary night. He still doesn’t entirely expect him to actually follow through and show up when Sho lets him know of his arrival.  
  
But Jun does appear. He slides into the passenger seat of Sho’s car after a few minutes of waiting, rubbing his gloved hands together and patting his cheeks in an attempt to warm up from the cold.  
  
Without a word, Sho releases the handbrake and starts driving. He lets the silence sit as they creep through familiar streets, giving Jun time to adjust. Sho likes to think he’s good at learning from his mistakes. There’s no need to rush.  
  
If there’s something both of them are good at, despite all of their flaws, it’s being able to make the best of difficult situations. Hurt feelings aren’t worth ruining what’s most important, so they settled back into old dynamics without any acknowledgement of there having been a change. A few months are but a blip compared to so many years of familiar routine.  
  
It’s the status quo, and it’s mostly comfortable.  
  
“Sho-san, what are we doing?” Jun says eventually. “Why did you call me out this late?”  
  
Sho glances at the clock. Eight minutes have passed since he started driving; enough time for two songs to have played in full. If he had the car radio on. He left it switched off.  
  
“It’s Christmas,” Sho says.  
  
“So?”  
  
“Don’t you think it’s sad to be alone on a night like this? Christmas Eve should be spent with someone.”  
  
“That’s…” Jun sighs and drops his head back on his seat.  
  
 _Stupid_ , Sho finishes for him.  
  
He doesn’t want to stop now and let the awkwardness fester, so he has no choice but to forge ahead.  
  
“Actually, I was sitting at home trying to think of what I should get Aiba-chan for his birthday, and then I realised something. I still haven’t given you anything for your birthday.”  
  
“You just remembered that now?”  
  
“I guess it slipped my mind.” Sho glances across at Jun and tries a smile. “I could never seem to decide on anything. I wasn’t sure what you’d want.”  
  
Jun says nothing.  
  
“What do you want, Matsujun?”  
  
He’s not talking about gifts anymore, and they both know it. The question hangs between them in the suffocating enclosed space; an unwelcome reminder of their last argument. Sho’s aware he was never supposed to bring it up again. Doing so is breaking the unspoken terms of their fragile settlement.  
  
He’s tired of following a set script.  
  
Sho pulls the car over into an empty space on the side of the road and turns the engine off. Jun looks at him curiously, but he holds back from making a comment.  
  
“How about I tell you what I want?” Sho says. “Can I do that? Or is it too selfish?”  
  
Still looking at Sho, Jun inclines his head in a slight nod.  
  
“I want to watch the sunrise. I want to stay up for hours just talking away the time with you, not realising the hour until light hits and then we can both go home regretting the impulse. But not really, because it was worth it. And I want to share a meal with you. Like we were supposed to before, only I want to finish it properly this time. But I don’t know if we’ll have time for that before the end of the year so it’s okay if we don’t. Just as long as you know that I wanted to.”  
  
After he finishes speaking, Jun is still silent. Sho starts the car again and pulls onto the road, resuming his slow drive through the quiet streets.  
  
“Why before the end of the year?” Jun asks after a minute has passed.  
  
“Because then, at the start of next year, we can go back to how it was. Or start afresh. I don’t know. But just for this week, I want to ask you for what I want. And you can do the same.”  
  
They come to a stop at an intersection and Sho peers at their surroundings, trying to make out any familiar markings. He’s lost his sense of where they are.  
  
“You know,” Jun says, “Your birthday’s in a month. I’ll have to give you something else then.”  
  
Sho lets his eyes flicker over to Jun for a second. The passing streetlights cast soft, orange light inside the car, slipping over Jun's face and revealing his features for the briefest of moments before dark returns. It's not a lot of time to give Sho more than a fleeting impression.  
  
He grips the steering wheel tighter, turning his attention back to the road.  
  
“You can consider this an early present.”  
  
“An early present.” Jun hums. “I don’t know that I want to do that.”  
  
“And what do you want?”  
  
“I want… I want everything to be easier. I want to not have to think so much.”  
  
“You can’t do that,” Sho reminds him.  
  
“I know.”  
  
Neither of them speak for a little while. Sho circles around the city blocks until he finds himself back on a road he’s familiar with. There are some decorative lights outside the storefronts; pretty little things shining down on either side of them.  
  
He never did get to see Jun's Christmas tree properly lit up.  
  
“Sho-kun?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Are we really going to keep driving around Tokyo until the sun comes out? It’s still hours away.”  
  
Before Sho can figure out how to respond, Jun adds, “Why don’t we just go back to my place? We can always watch the sunrise from there.”  
  
Sho smiles. “Yeah. I think that sounds good.”


End file.
